Maybe Iím just tired. Or shot one too many steroid injections this week. Whatever. I oughta be happy for all of you insensitive pricks out there, glad for your sakes, you who claim to care, that you havenít been through what I have, and forgive you for being so fucking clueless.
Iím not, though. Iím pissed off.
ďYou just gotta have a positive attitude. You choose to be that way. You choose to think that way. Youíre too sensitive. You need to toughen up.Ē
Okay, if the worst thing that ever happened to me was having my brother steal my favorite ďSports Illustrated: Swimsuit EditionĒ, or having fucked-up hair on Picture Day, and twenty years later I was still obsessing about it, then, yeah, Iíd be needing your advice.
Not all of us are that lucky.
The worst thing that ever happened to me is shit I donít even want to remember. And if you break your leg, am I gonna tell you, ďHey, man, why are you limping? Thatís your choice, you know. You donít HAVE to limp. You can just think positive, and choose not to.Ē
That gonna work for you, chump? No? Well, why not? Itís just a broken leg, right? It happened, and it was bad, but itís in a cast now, and itís healing, so whatís your problem?
YeahÖ.Well, keep this in mind, the next time you are too bored, too irritated, or too impatient to follow through on that ďI care about youĒ bullshit: insecurity is a mental limp. Itís a reflex, a subconscious reaction, and although I can sometimes choose not to reveal it, it takes effort, just like hiding a limp. And I donít always have the energy to devote to it, and sometimes Iím just too pissed off to care. After all, who am I hiding it for?
Not me. You. ĎCause I know damn well that you donít want to deal with it, and I try not to make you. Most of the time. Because thatís the choice YOU made, right? To tell yourself itís not your problem, that Iím just a pussy, and need to learn to ďdeal with itĒ. Your choice, to turn your back on me, and you blame your decision on me, too, so you donít have to feel guilty about being a cold-hearted prick.
Well, you can shut me out. Thatís your right, and I sure as hell donít blame you. I irritate the shit outta me sometimes, too. But as for layering more guilt on meósorry, but Iím done taking that crap.
You donít wanna hear me, thatís fine. I get it. But keep your judgmental, meaningless fucking platitudes to yourself.
Go ahead and turn your back, but shut the fuck up.